


Inevitable

by Moontyger



Category: House War - Michelle West
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-16
Updated: 2011-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-19 11:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/pseuds/Moontyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That should have been the end of it.  She'd been hurt; Jay had treated it.  It was a done deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitable

Duster liked pain. Mostly, she liked other people's – physical or emotional, she didn't much care which. She didn't have to be the one who caused it, but she liked it better if she was and she didn't bother to hide the preference. That made people uncomfortable and, in Duster's world, making people uncomfortable always counted as a win.

Her own pain was different. It was a well-known fact amongst the den that if Duster was in pain, someone else was either worse off or they would be shortly. A wounded Duster showed only her feral side, snarling and snapping to make people keep their distance.

Mostly, they were smart. They did just that, giving her a wide berth, even in rooms as crowded as theirs had become.

But Jay wasn't like that. Jay was stupid. It drove Duster nuts. Jewel was just as poor as the rest of them, so how could she still be so stupid? Yeah, she'd had parents once, even an Oma. More than Duster had ever had. But that had been years ago and she still hadn't changed, no matter what she'd seen or experienced. And Duster knew some of it had been bad.

It made no sense. No one could survive in the twenty-fifth holding and stay like that and yet, defying everything that Duster's entire life had shown to be true, Jay was still here.

Here, at the moment, meant approaching Duster where she sat curled into a corner, weaving her way between bodies with the ease of long habit. She signed her refusal, then stated it aloud, and Jay, of course, ignored it.

She didn't mean to pull the knife. Didn't mean to and couldn't stop it; it was in her hand, wavering a little but still a threat. They both looked at it, stared in a room gone suddenly silent, waiting to see what would happen.

“Let me see it.” Jay's voice was calm, as though she wasn't being threatened with a weapon by a known killer. Duster was fast and Jay was too close; she'd be able to cut her, maybe even kill her if she got real lucky. It would be after that that things would get dicey.

She took in the rest of the den at a glance, dismissing most of them without a second thought. Carver, Angel, Arann – those three were the threat. Everyone else would just get in the way.

“Duster.” Jay's voice again. She looked at her; it was instinct to look when someone this close to her spoke. Probably said something that she'd looked away at all, a sign of the kind of weakness she'd never intended, never _wanted_ to have.

She met Jay's eyes, wide and dark. She could see the fear in them, but she didn't look away. Duster had to give her that. Jay _knew_ what Duster was, knew what she was capable of. But she wasn't running, wasn't even backing down. Not even for something like this.

It was hard to put the knife away. She almost couldn't do it. It was her own hesitation that gave her the final impetus to push it home into its sheath. Jay wasn't going to hurt her, not really. Any harm that Jay could do was nothing compared to what Duster had already experienced. In the face of that, she refused to show fear.

But she couldn't quite turn off the bravado. She pulled up her shirt right there, in front of everyone, baring the ugly slash across her ribs along with her lack of undergarments. Why not? Worse than any of them had already seen it. Done more than just look. After that, what was the point of modesty?

Wasn't like any of them would try anything anyway. They knew better. Only Lander ever came within striking distance if he could help it and even he wasn't likely to actually touch her.

Only Lander – and Jay. Who was biting her lip as she looked, the concern plain on her face. Duster _hated_ it. Every instinct she had screamed that anyone who could look like that was weak, too weak to survive. She had to get away before they pulled her down with them. And knowing that it was directed at her was a thousand times worse.

She wanted to scream. To hit, to attack. To demand Jewel wipe that expression off her face. To flee. But she did none of those things. She just sat there, barely breathing while Jay reached out and ran cool fingers along the cut, tracing the edge.

It hurt, revealing new edges in pain that had dulled, but Duster didn't complain, not then and not when the salve added stinging on top of that. This was nothing; she didn't deign to notice it.

“Happy now?” She snarled; she couldn't help it. Gratitude had never been Duster's strong suit.

“I'll check it tomorrow.”

“It'll be fine.”

* * *

That should have been the end of it. She'd been hurt; Jay had treated it. It was a done deal.

And yet... she couldn't forget it. Here, in the dark, she kept playing it over and over in her mind. There was something about it, about the way Jay's fingers felt on her torn flesh that stuck with her. She shifted carefully, waiting to see if anyone noticed. Her senses were on high alert; they were _always_ on high alert. You couldn't fool Duster by faking sleep.

But no one's breathing changed and she relaxed, slipping her hand under her shirt. Her fingers traced the path Jay's had taken – once, then again. She frowned; it wasn't the same. Jay's hands weren't soft and smooth, weren't the hands of a girl who didn't have to do hard work. She had scars and calluses, they all did. But hers were different. It was subtle, but Duster could feel it.

Didn't matter. She shouldn't be doing this anyway.

But she didn't stop. She stroked the cut again, breath catching in something more than pain. Her eyes slipped closed and she could almost feel it again, imagine these fingers were Jay's instead of hers. Imagine them coated with stinging, greasy salve, smoothing it into reddened skin. Like it had been, but slower, almost lingering. Causing pain, but healing it at the same time.

She couldn't explain what she felt. It wasn't sex, despite the dampness between her thighs, the desire to rub her legs together tightly to try to relieve the growing tension. Duster knew sex and it was all about taking from someone too weak to resist. If you were lucky, they didn't hurt you too much while they took what they wanted. If you were lucky, but she usually hadn't been.

She didn't want to be touched, not in the way she sometimes saw members of the den touch each other and not in the ways she'd had more than she ever wanted already. Anyone who tried to hug Duster would be lucky not to lose a hand and that went for Jay, too. Anyone who tried more than that would be lucky if she left them alive at all. She didn't talk about it, but she remembered - remembered some things far too clearly and she was _never_ going to let them happen again if she could help it.

No, this was different. There was something special about this touch, about the way the pain mingled with something she'd never felt. Not the salve, though medicine of any type had been rare enough. It was more intangible than that, and she'd always been bad with intangibles. Call it caring, concern, something like that. All the words and concepts she disdained and would rather not name at all.

She wanted to feel it again. No, that was wrong. She never wanted to feel it again, not ever. It made her want things she shouldn't, made her feel things she never wanted to. Left her here, awake and frustrated, when she should be sleeping.

Enough. Quietly, she got to her feet, reaching for her boots in the light of the precious magestone Jay always kept lit at night. She carried them with her as she opened the locks on their door as quietly as she could. She'd put them on once she was outside. And if someone thought that offered them an opportunity, that was a mistake they wouldn't make twice.

She hoped they would. Hoped they'd be that stupid, but also good – good enough to offer a challenge. Maybe even enough to hurt, to leave behind the cuts and bruises she sported less often these days than she once had.

Duster didn't ask herself why she wanted this. She knew. Knew it; hated it. For her, these were often the same thing. But hating it wouldn't be enough to stop her. It never was.


End file.
